Looking For the Right One

              I know this post's title is misleading. It makes you think that there's going to be something juicy or emotional in here, and I apologize for that, but bear with me. Maybe one day I'll blog about my social life (unlikely), but this is not that day. This is about another stressful and pressing issue- the fact that I am currently unemployed. Now, if you were to ask me how aliyah is going, I will always be positive. The move has been great, almost seamless. I love this city, my friends, my apartment. I have never felt more at home or more sure of any major decision I've ever made. The only dark cloud hovering over my perpetually sunny, aliyah day is the fact that I am a month and a half out of ulpan, and I haven't yet found gainful full-time employment. I am still enjoying the few hours a week that I assist the best event planner in Israel, but I need a job, my friends. A real life, full-time, paying- the- bills, up at seven, home after nightfall job. See, I have been working in some capacity or another since I'm twelve. I babysat, tutored, taught Hebrew school, and balanced books. I have been a counselor, a youth leader, and a madricha for almost every Jew in the tri-state area. And all of that was before I finished my Master's in Speech Pathology and worked in various schools all over Queens for the better part of seven years! This whole "not working" thing is kind of freaking me out.
              So you must all be wondering (and by all, I mean my mother and other assorted concerned adults) "Jordana, why don't you just continue to pursue speech therapy in Israel?" The answer to that is four-fold (as you can see, I've answered this a lot.) One, you have to take a qualifying exam in Hebrew to work here in an agency/school system. At this point, I don't think I could pass this exam in English, as it's been a million years since I graduated and I'm a bit fuzzy on oral musculature and sensorineural hearing loss these days. Second, on the crazy chance that I passed said exam, I'd then have to see clients, plan lessons, do paperwork and meet with parents in Hebrew! As proud as I am with my budding Hebrew skills, that's a truly daunting thought. Third, and I'm being honest, is that the pay here for speech therapy is okay, but certainly not good. I have a friend who works for a kupa (agency) who says she basically makes enough to cover her babysitter. I think most speech therapists in the US will tell you that the pay and the hours are a strong factor in choosing a career as an SLP. This is not really as much of a factor here. But I think the biggest reason for me is that, with all these barriers, if I really loved being a speech therapist, I'd do it here too. But I never did. When you choose a career path at eighteen, you have a certain life-plan in mind, one that includes a husband and kids in the near future and requires a nicely- paid, flexible job. So you choose speech and you work in it, and you enjoy it, but then your life isn't necessarily exactly what you envisioned. You don't need that family-life flexibility and pay as a single girl.
               Making aliyah was the fulfillment of several dreams. One was to live in the Jewish homeland and hopefully raise my own family here. Another was to find a job in an area in which I am passionate and talented, to feel a sense of fulfillment in my job. This is not to say I wasn't fulfilled helping kids learn to better communicate; it was just never my passion. It's just being honest about who I am as a person, and using my skills in a different way.
               For years, I worked on a volunteer basis in the worlds of Jewish and Israeli advocacy. I love meeting and working with Jews and Israel advocates and I knew by coming to Israel, that's where I saw my path leading. Okay, great! So now that I had a direction, how do I go about getting a job? I had a two-pronged system. One was what Israelis call protekzia, or connections. This is where I'd tap into the thousand people I know in the Jewish world, add that to the two thousand people my mom and dad know, the ten thousand my synagogue friends know, and the other various people I'd randomly meet though an awkward and unnatural phenomenon known as networking. As part of this plan, I was advised to join LinkedIn, a social media platform which is essentially putting your resume in a questionnaire format and then forging a "connection" with every human who looks vaguely familiar to you on the site. Apparently, they don't have to be your friends, just someone who's name you recognize next to their picture. I joined this website, and being the absolute Jewish- geography superstar that I am, got to connecting! "But now what?" I thought. I have sent my resume to every person I've ever met who possibly knows anyone in the Jewish organizational world, my dad is basically accosting everyone in shul about a job for me, and my million amazing connections in different organizations are coming up empty! What do I do?
            That is where the second prong comes in- good old fashion job searching and applying. When I was planning my move here, Nefesh B'Nefesh helped me a lot. Then, in December, they sent me an email asking how my job search was going at the wrong time. I responded with a strongly worded email saying, basically, "Not great, you gonna help me or what?" And guess what? They did! They sent me this great little dynamo, Melissa, who revamped my intensely outdated resume (eight years in speech, remember?) and showed me all the places I should be looking. She also, bless her, started sending out my resume herself to jobs she thought might be appropriate for me. As appreciative as I am for this, it sometimes leads me to interviews where I have literally no idea about the job for which I'm applying. "Ohhh, you're looking for a part-time office assistant? Okayyyy, cool." But I put on a brave face and try and get that office assistant job! Not that I want the job, I just want to get the job, you know? But this isn't the time to get into my competitiveness issues. Moving on to interviewing in Israel.
            I know the job market here in this country. I am not in high-tech and I am not an engineer. I have not created an app, and I am not a radiologist in NYC who commutes back and forth. I am not a real-estate magnate and I do not own a sports team. I will never be wealthy in this country. That is not the goal. The goal is to make enough money to afford my rent, go out on Thursday nights with friends and maybe buy a ticket back to the States once a year. I'm a simple girl. But apparently, based on the current salary base in this country, I am aiming too high. Essentially, this is what you're dealing with (paraphrased): "Hello, Jordana! So great to meet you. Let me tell you what we're looking for here at ABC Organization. We're going to need you to direct our social media and digital marketing campaigns, take care of our English correspondence, plan our events, take care of all our logistics, produce our newsletter, maintain and grow our donor relationships, do some light office work, write and edit our website content...(10 minutes pass) and we're looking for Sunday-Thursday, 8AM to 5PM but obviously more when the need arises. Now the pay is going to be low, but it's such a great work environment and you will really get a lot out of this." Then they quote you a number so low that even if it were dollars you'd freak out for the sheer amount you need to accomplish to earn said salary, and your mouth is agape. And here is the kicker! You are one of ten applicants (at least!) for this job! There are nine other girls (I don't see many guys in the waiting areas with me) who are fine selling their lives to these organizations for peanuts. So you suddenly feel like you need this job, you must have this job! It is a stressful environment, especially for someone like me, who knows what they need to accomplish in life and how to do it, but has no way of actualizing it. Melissa from NBN said to me, "Finding a job is a full-time job," but I don't want this job! I want to make the lives of Jews better, I want to improve the lives of Israelis, I want to make a significant difference in this country I love with the people I love, and I am hitting the proverbial wall.
                   So that's where I am, currently. I appreciate you taking the time to let me vent, and I hope I made you laugh a little. It's really not that dramatic, and most of the time, it' a great learning experience. And even with all the hassle, the financial stress and the dramatics, I wouldn't go back to a cushy life in NYC for the world. Israel is the only place I want to be, warts and all. 
              To leave off on a positive note, I know this is temporary. It was a little nuts that my aliyah was going so smoothly, and I had to be aware that some bumps were bound to show up on the road. So I will keep sending out my resume, keep networking and keep interviewing. And hopefully, in the not-so-distant future, I will look back at this post and think "Wow, what a stressful time! Glad that's over!" Wish me luck, and if you want, connect with me on LinkedIn! Let's network!

          

Une Famille Juive

                    There's a old saying (I'd like to think it's Jewish, but I haven't verified it) that you can't judge someone until you've walked a mile in his shoes. And since that can never happen, as you can never live all someone's experiences for yourself, it follows that you can never judge someone else. And since it says you can't ever judge someone else, you never will, right? Obviously not! Where am I going with this? Today I attended the funerals of the four holy Jewish souls who were murdered in Paris this past Friday. They were targeted and shot for the crime of buying food for shabbat, for being Jewish. After the horrors of the Charlie Hebdo massacre, there was a palpable sense amongst the people I spoke with that thought, "But what about the Jews? Is it possible that for once, they really weren't the target of the hatred and violence of the radical Islamic terrorists in France?" Of course, one day later, we were to find out that it was only a temporary reprieve, that of course the Jews would remain the primary target of violence in France, and that anti-Semitism would continue to flourish unabated in that continent of Europe, with a Jewish history so complicated it hurts one's head.
                   On Friday, the Jewish community of France was dealt yet another harsh blow, another horrific attack on a community that has seen more hatred and fear for being Jewish than nearly anyone in the last decade. These French Jews, numbering over half a million, mostly already refugees from their original homes in Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria, fearing the prospect of becoming refugees again. I devoured every article and scrap of information, as I always do, wondering aloud how and why these Jews hadn't already made aliyah, or why they weren't packing their bags as fast as they could. I couldn't fathom why on earth they would stay in place that kept punishing them for being Jewish. I judged, and I never even got close to walking even a step in their shoes.
                 A little background into where my shoes have trod. I grew up going to Orthodox Jewish schools, camps, Passover programs and Sunday activities. I lived in New York City, where everyone I knew was Jewish and if they weren't, they knew all about us. I had off for every Jewish holiday through college, Spring Break was always over Passover and I never had to explain to a professor what Rosh Hashana was. My dad could wear a kippa, tzitzit hanging out, while praying on a subway and no one would say a word. I can't remember a single incidence of anti-Semitism in my general vicinity at any point in time in my life. I'm not saying these things to brag or to let myself off the hook. Quite the opposite. I am telling you this so you can understand how thoroughly I can not relate to being a Jew in Europe, and especially not France. And yet I judged, and I am so regretful.
                Today I went to the funeral, where the vast majority of mourners were French Jews. They were somber and tearful, we all were. We're all family, truly, and the loss of Jews anywhere in the world is a loss for us all. But to me, I saw them mourning the loss of the Jewish community in France. I saw the realization amongst many of those assembled that their time in France was drawing short, that the country where they had built synagogues and businesses and families would soon no longer be able keep them safe, and they felt lost. And though the Israeli dignitaries who spoke to those assembled spoke beautifully about Israel being a home for all Jews, they spoke in Hebrew, a language different from their own. And you could see the love they all had for Israel, the Zionism that burns brighter in them than in most Jews I know back home in the States, but how that love doesn't negate the fears they have in leaving France for good, in starting over here.

Thousands gather to pay their respects

               So for once, I tried to walk a few steps in their shoes. I tried to imagine my own home country becoming a place I no longer felt comfortable (G-d forbid). I tried to imagine being scared to wear a Magen David on the subway, even though I can now wear an Israeli flag on my back with no fear at all. I tried to imagine sending a child to school in Queens with four heavily armed guards at the entrance, rather than just the intercom systems we have now. I tried to imagine everyone I know being forced to sell the businesses that they worked on for years to make successful, and move to a country with a new language and a totally different economy. I tried to imagine having to uproot Bubbies and Zaidys, who already knew the pain of being a refugee, telling them they have to escape persecution again in their lifetimes. And I tried to imagine the place I grew up, loved and was so proud to call my home, suddenly no longer wanting me there.
               So while I couldn't truly step into their shoes, I was no longer judging. And while I might still sometimes lament why some of them choose to stay in France, I will welcome those who do decide to make aliyah with my arms open as wide as possible. Certainly, Israel is as much their home as it is mine, as it is the home for every Jew. I will work hard to understand that it is not always easy to leave one's home for one's Homeland, no matter how much you may love it. Most of all, I will do my part to help everyone I meet here in Israel feel like "une familly juive"- one Jewish family. Am Yisrael Chai.
             

Holiday Candles, Birthday Candles, Emergency Candles

                 January 1st is known as Sylvester here in Israel. It always strikes me as funny, since it's named after St. Sylvester, a pope who notoriously hated the Jews. This year, it also happened to be the six- month anniversary of the day I moved to Israel! That's why I love the fact that I moved here on the first of the month- so easy to track how long I've been here! Since last I posted, I have moved into my apartment, celebrated Hanukkah, began looking for a job in earnest, hosted my family visiting from New York, and weathered my first "snowstorm" of the year. It's been hectic, but super exciting!
                 The day after I moved out of ulpan, Hanukkah began! I know this is controversial, but I really don't like "the holiday season" as they call it back in NYC. While many Jews I know live for the songs, and the tinsel, the trees and the Santas, I personally don't. I understand the appeal, the glitz and glamour, and the fact that it is in your face 24/7 from October through January, but I never shook the feeling that none of it was for me, and that it really distracted from my own joy when it came to Hanukkah. I don't want to have to compete for "holiday supremacy", and it would be silly to try! That's why I love living in a country where there is only Hanukkah! Sure, you see a random Xmas tree walking past a bar or in the Old City Christian Quarter, but for the most part, it's menorahs and dreidels, as far as the eye can see! I can not explain to you the feeling of seeing streetlamps festooned with menorahs, buses wishing us a "Hanukkah Sameach", signs exclaiming "We have the best doughnuts in town!" and nary a jingle bell anywhere! It warmed my heart for 8 straight days and nights! Not to mention the family and friend Hanukkah parties, intense games of dreidel, and general revelry around every corner. One night, I was invited as a "special oleh" to light candles with the mayor of Jerusalem, whom I adore. That was kind of a letdown, as it was packed with a million other "special olim" and I didn't get my selfie with the mayor, but it was okay! The next day, I was again invited as a "special recent graduate of ulpan" to a candle lighting ceremony with Bibi Netanyahu himself! I was super- excited, to say the least. I think you might guess where I'm going with this. Turns out, I was one of very many "special recent graduates of ulpan" along with 300 or so other recent olim, all assuming we were going to get some face-time with the Prime Minister. 

Jerusalem's Lamposts!

                      We had to wait two hours until he arrived, the room full to overflowing (and by that I mean only overflowing), while he lit candles and we heard from 2 recent olim. Again, this may be controversial, but I have to say it. Both olim gave moving stories about how they left situations (in France and Peru) where being Jewish was difficult and came here to live as free Jews. I understand how this is an important narrative, but just once, I want to hear this story on a podium: "I left all my family and friends, a great job, a new car and a big house to move to Israel. I lived in a huge Jewish community with 3 kosher pizza shops and 5 Orthodox synagogues in my area. I never experienced a smidgen of anti-Semitism, I never had to work on a Jewish holiday and life couldn't have been easier. And yet here I am, fulfilling my dream of helping to build the Jewish state." This is the narrative of myself and so many of my friends and family, and I think it's just taken for granted sometimes. Okay, back to the event. Bibi gave an awesome speech about how moving to the country is making a huge contribution and I was pretty inspired by the end of the night. Definitely a great way to wrap up the first half of your first year here!
                     After Hanukkah, when the rest of the world was celebrating Xmas, I was making a welcome sign for 3 of my favorite people in the world- my parents and sister! They decided to visit me during their work breaks, and were coming for ten whole days! I decided to surprise them in the airport, which felt like a great idea until they were the last people from their flight to emerge at arrivals. One look at the their excited-to-see-me but anxious faces, and I could tell something was amiss. Turns out, they got all their bags except one- mine. The bag they packed with all my winter stuff and all the things I bought Cyber Monday (so sue me, not 100% Israeli yet) was gone! They put a claim in and we hoped for the best, hopping a cab back to our rented apartment in Nachlaot.

Israel just got way more Brown-y!

                  In a perfect world, I would be living in that apartment- one bedroom, great location, nice size but plain. In reality, that place is probably twice the price of my studio and so it was not meant to be. The next 10 days saw me playing tour guide, a role which I would most definitely fill in another life. We went to museums and landmarks, we saw family and friends, but mostly-we ate. As one does while on vacation, we ate out non-stop, but unlike a vacation in Italy or Brazil, everywhere you looked was kosher! I'm not going to lie, not paying for one meal in ten days has got to be one of the best feelings on earth. And, dear readers, I was allowed to get dessert! See, while my parents were here, I celebrated my birthday, so aside from my birthday cake, I demanded every dessert that whole week come with a lit sparkler and a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday to You!" All told, I had about 8 birthday cakes (and waffles) and I'm thinking of just doing this year-round. I'll let you know.

One cake is never enough

                  While being without my family is extremely hard for me being with them in a one room apartment, 24 hours a day for ten days has it's own set of issues, as you can imagine. While it's great to get parental input on my life once a week, it's very different to hear my parents' views on all aspects of my life for over a week. In one conversation, I might hear their wisdom on: finding a mate, a job, the size of my apartment, calling distant relatives and staying safe on a city bus. In one lunch conversation. And while I was here, living life, my folks were on vacation- wanting to see, do and eat, and I was their logistics coordinator. Did I call that cousin? (Yes, they haven't picked up the last 3 times) Did I double check our reservation? (Who does that? The table is there, relax) What's the weather going to be? So cold?! Why? (Because I don't control the cold front). It was the most intense full-time, non-paying job I've ever had, and I was a Birthright counselor 12 times!
                But then when they left, I felt quite alone. And even though I had coffee with a friend right after, and fixed up my apartment, and my apartment is teeny, I felt more by myself in Israel than I have in the whole 6-months. Not to worry! Weather reports were predicting a huge snowstorm for Jerusalem, so instead of panicking about being alone, I could start panicking about being alone and frozen and stranded in the center of town! As you may have read, a snowstorm in Israel is nothing like a snowstorm in my native NYC. As they are quite common there, they are significantly more rare here in the Middle East. (Or at least, they were until last year, I guess!) Since the country had seen it's biggest storm in a century last year (I would tell you how much accumulation, but centimeters still makes no sense to me at all) everyone here was gearing up for a real doozy. The supermarkets were madhouses (pre-holiday level chaos) and road closures were announced. I'm not scared of snow (c'mon, I'm from Queens!) but I was imagining scenarios where pandemonium would break out in the Holy Land, electricity would cut out, rioting and looting would commence- I was expecting the very worst.
              I packed a bag full of sweaters and wine, and went to my friend Donna's to ride out the storm. We had a delicious dinner and discussed our game plan (We were running out of water and toilet paper and felt it might be in our best interest to replenish those.) The next day, still no snow in sight but with winds that could knock you over, my friend Yoni picked me up to ride out the rest of the storm with his family in Efrat. We had to hurry, since the roads would be closed in a veritable state of emergency. It was looking to be one for the ages. And then----
            Nothing. Well, I shouldn't say nothing. There was some freezing rain. Some scattered snowflakes. A lot of noisy wind. But the "storm of the century" turned out to be "the boy who cried wolf." And while I'm happy that it didn't shut down the whole country and cause untold damage, I am a bit disappointed that my first Israeli snowstorm was such a dud. And so I sit here in Efrat, watching the few flakes lightly fall on the porch, waiting for my hot mekupelet (like hot cocoa but 5 million times better), reflecting on the last few weeks of my first half-year as an oleh (Pretty weak milestone, I know, but I'm going with it.) Can't wait to see what the second half brings! 

The One with the Stairs

           Welcome to part 2 of my post on finding an apartment in Jerusalem! As I mentioned earlier, I finally found a place to live, on my own, in the center of town in Jerusalem. It was at the upper end of my budget, but I was determined to make it work. The only issue that had me concerned was the fact that it was a loft space, with only a rickety ladder connecting the main area to the loft/sleeping area.
            My Persian landlords (pertinent information for the story) assured me they would build me a small staircase to connect the two. They even put "new staircase" in our contract along with "small fridge" (aka mini fridge, as it turned out) and some other goodies to sweeten the deal. As I had never signed my own lease contract (in a foreign language) before, I gave the lease to some very well-meaning, very non- lawyer Israelis I knew. They seemed super concerned about the contents of the contract but I soon found out it was all standard. As in, "I signed my life away" standard. No matter! I had an apartment to move into and my stairs were going to be built and life was sababa!
             The first snag came whenever I would ask the landlords when the stairs were being built. The answer was always either "next week" or "tomorrow" when in actuality they were not being built next week or tomorrow! A month before I had to move out, I was chilled about the situation, but as my eviction- from- ulpan date neared, I started to get a little panicked. The stairs were taking too long, the landlords said they were getting too pricey, there wasn't enough room for them, and on and on the complaints mounted. All I wanted was to head up to bed at night without taking my life in my hands- was that too much to ask?! Add to this my whole "furnishing an empty box" situation- I had my closet and bed being delivered to a loft with only a rickety ladder! Finally one day, I came into the landlords' store, two doors away from my apartment building and Mr. H had a big smile on his face. He told me to "go check upstairs" and I was absolutely gobsmacked! After weeks of waiting, my stairs were built with no fanfare and not even a word to me- a special surprise! I ran up the stairs and peered at the area where they should be but saw no stairs. Weird. Then I noticed something on the exact opposite side of the apartment. My stairs had been built, big and strong, on the wrong side! 
I was a ball of emotions; confused, excited and ultimately horrified. Because, you see, the stairs had been built completely blocking the indentation in the wall meant to house my closet! Which would be delivered in 30 minutes! 

Um, are these stairs blocking anything important?

I ran back down to the landlords and in a rush of Hebrew, English and tears, demanded to know how and why this happened. After no less than ten conversations dedicated to "the stairs situation", why was the concept of putting the stairs on the other side of the room never mentioned? Why were they put up with no consultation with the person who would be using them? The landlords were shocked. They thought I would be happy! In a mixture of Hebrew, Farsi and tongue clicks, they assured me this was the best option. And in the midst of this chaos, my closet arrived! Except now it had no home, so it sat in the center of the apartment, one gigantic testament to the silliness of the stairs current location. The landlords tried valiantly to show me where my closet should now sit, but in such a small space, there is a place for everything and everything had it's place. And the stairs had to be moved. My landlords, being the very sweet and well-meaning people they are, agreed to have the stairs moved, while still warning the construction crew to "never marry an American girl." Touche.

My closet, stranded in the middle of the room

         As you can imagine, the stairs were not changed the next day. Nor the next. And then it was shabbat, so not then either. On Sunday, a regular working day here, I raced from my end- of- ulpan test to supervise the construction of these infernal stairs. I got to the place and the landlords informed me that the builders weren't coming, as one was sick. I inquired "hospital sick?" and he wasn't. I told the landlords "These builders are making a fool of us. I need to move in and they are completely unprofessional. I'm not telling you to fire them, but I would call them and say I'll never use their services again. You guys are way too nice." Now, reader, you may think I'm being too tough in this situation, but I have the dual honor of being a New Yorker and now an Israeli. And my New York-Israeli mentality does not allow for such shenanigans. And you know what? It really lit a fire under my landlord. An hour later he called me and said he convinced the builder to come at 3 that afternoon! And by 3, obviously the builder came at 4. But he came! And built me stairs! In the exact location we discussed! And they are beautiful! 

Success!

              And so, dear reader, I now live in the loft of my dreams, with sturdy stairs and a closet in a closet-sized hole in the wall. All is right in the world and I invite any and all of you to come see the stairs for yourselves, should you ever find yourself in downtown Jerusalem!

House Hunters: Jerusalem

             It's been ages! So much has happened, since I last blogged. So much, in fact, that I am going to make this a 2 (or 3, depending on how long-winded I get) part series entitled: Where is She Now? The Jordana Brown Story. Today's entry is about my search for a place to live after leaving the comfortable, but temporary, environs of Ulpan Etzion.

            Regardless of my opinions of my accommodations in ulpan (okay facilities, lackluster food options, undesirable location) it was a great home for my initial five months after making aliyah. It was always there when I needed it, with my tiny bed and my unreliable 78 bus line, and I will miss it. About a month before the ulpan ended, a frenzy began wherein all ulpan students suddenly realized we needed a place to move! Permanent locations were discussed, many hoping to move to the Tel Aviv area (why?!) with most choosing to stay in the Jerusalem area. Roommates were buddying up, and appointments to see rooms and apartments were being made. I knew for myself I had several requirements; I wanted to live near the center of town and I wanted to live alone. While most single Orthodox Jews my age choose to live in the German Colony/Katamon area (there's even a whole Israeli television show about single life there, called "Srugim") I knew that it wasn't the place for me. Don't get me wrong, I have friends there and hope to spend a lot of wonderful shabbat meals in the area, but for me, I wanted a more central location. I decided to look in the Nachlaot, Rehavia and center of town areas exclusively. Then there was the whole "living alone" situation. This came about because I have never done it and always wanted to. I am a social person (to put it mildly), but I love the idea of having my own space to come home to, after being surrounded by people all day. I love the idea of hosting a million friends and family members from Israel and abroad, being a landing pad for anyone who needs a place to crash. I love the idea of hosting meals and parties, without checking to see if it's okay with my roommates. And I really love the idea of decorating my own place! But this independence comes with a price- namely, taking care of every single bill and the entire rent on my own for a whole year! That's really daunting for a chick who hasn't had a full-time job in six months! (More to come on job shenanigans in a future post!) But I saved up in New York City (throwback to being a rich American!) and knew that I had to at least try to make this "living alone" thing happen.

              The first area I searched was the two-headed dragon known as Facebook groups and Janglo. There are several Facebook groups dedicated to people looking for apartments or roommates in Jerusalem (and everywhere else in Israel), as well as Janglo, a website for English-speaking Jerusalemites looking for basically anything. Why is this a two-headed dragon, you might wonder. Because if I went to these sites looking for English-speaking apartment options so did every other English speaker in Jerusalem! We are a simple bunch, we Anglos. We want things in English, we want to read and understand, and we want to communicate with brokers and renters who speak our common language. But this leads to a highly competitive real estate market, where an apartment posted in Nachlaot lasts maybe a half hour before it's rented! And it got frustrating after a while. One funny story: The Facebook ad read: "Adorable apartment in Rehavia, cheap rent, 6 months with option for longer, one bedroom with loft." There were some accompanying pictures of a leafy entryway and the price was right, so I set up a time to see the place. When I got there, it was a) not in Rehavia (it was really in Katamon) b) the renter had disappeared from mobile communication and c) impossible to locate the entrance in the labyrinth of this building. Finally, the renter showed me the place. It was actually too narrow to even stand side by side in the "kitchen", her bed was on a loft over the bathroom, and breathing was getting difficult in such a confined space. Then, she showed me a larger bedroom, certainly suitable for habitation. I asked her why she didn't live there! She responded that her roommate lived in that room! Roommate?! Where was that in the ad? And is this roommate staying? I told her I wasn't interested and frankly, she was being ripped off. She told me she had plenty of interest from her Facebook ad, so she wasn't worried. I screamed in my head "Maybe that's because your entire ad is a misleading lie?!" but with my mouth told her that was great and wished her luck.

                    After that debacle, a Israeli friend suggested trying "Yad2" which is where Israelis tend to rent their places. This opened up a whole new world of possibility- endless apartments for rent in every price range, with pictures and descriptions! Unfortunately, there was no English translation on the site, but it gave me ample opportunity to work on my Hebrew reading skills. The first place I found was a loft space in the center of town. It was a cool studio with a ladder leading up to the "gallery." I hadn't really thought about living in the center, but the place was kind of great and the price wasn't terrible, so I said I'd be in touch and kept looking.

                   When you have parameters such as mine, you go see anything that looks right. It's kinda like dating, though. On paper, it checks all the boxes, but in reality it is just not for you. Like the apartment I went to see near the shuk which was literally in a bomb shelter. The renter was explaining how much room I had and how cool the layout was and all I'm thinking is "G-d forbid there's another war and I am hosting the whole building in my bomb shelter living room!" So, needless to say, that place was a no- go. Another place I saw had neighbor children climbing all over the entrance. Another was a glorified dorm room. Yet another was basically situated on a highway. To top it off, the neighborhood where I wanted to live most, Nachlaot, was really pricing me out. It was as if all the hippies (a large demographic of the area) were contriving to keep me out!  It was all becoming very demoralizing and my time in ulpan was running out. 

                  I kept coming back to the loft apartment I saw in town. I showed it to my cousins, some friends and my visiting aunt and uncle, who all saw the potential I did. I decided to move to the center of town and live in a loft! Easy- peasy right? Wrong! Coming up on Part 2 (because this post is getting super- long): The Saga of my Apartment. There are laughs, there are tears, and as always, the end is happy! Stay tuned!

Deep Breaths

              Let's take a trip back to the heady days of early summer. I had just made aliyah two weeks prior, and I was floating on a cloud of fresh Zionism, blessedly uncomplicated bureaucracy and warm Jerusalem breezes. I had just started ulpan, and sub-par accommodations and undesirable food notwithstanding, life seemed simple and fun. I was at the beginning of five months of Hebrew lessons, dorm living and getting myself situated here in Israel. I initially signed up to do this specific ulpan to give myself a "soft landing." My housing, food, social and scheduling situations would be taken care of until mid-December. I was golden.
            Except now it's December! Five long months have passed in the blink of and eye, and in less than two weeks, my adult life in Israel will truly begin. Sure, I had lots of stuff to take care of these past 5 months. But in short order, I find myself scrambling to find: an apartment, a job, furniture, a driver's license, a social circle, and all the details each of these involve. Let's break them down, shall we?
            On December 15, I will be homeless. I will leave the (not terrible) confines of my dorm room and have to live in a place of my own. Luckily, after much searching (blog post forthcoming), I have found a place to hang my hat, and I think I love it. Problem is, it is currently an empty box. A cute and well-located box, but empty nonetheless. It needs furniture, and furniture costs money. Which I don't really have, because I haven't worked since June (!!!) This results in a battle of wills deep within. On the one side, we have the newly thrifty Jordana, trying to get the best deal and buy the bare minimum of household essentials. On the other, prettier, side, we have the Jordana who loves to decorate and beautify, and wants vases, sconces and chandeliers! I am trying to marry the two sides and decorate my apartment efficiently and adorably. This is much more difficult when the closest Target is 5,000 miles away.

Check out this piece of second-hand beauty!

          You may remember (because I wrote it last paragraph) that I haven't worked since June. After the school year ended, I said goodbye to speech therapy. While it had it's good parts (the pay, the hours), it never fulfilled me and I never planned on pursuing it here in Israel. I have a myriad reasons, but the end result is, I need to find a job in a field that I have I have no official employment history! Now, if I wanted to sell Forex or Binary options (whatever the heck those are), I would be good-to-go here in Anglo- Israel. But unfortunately, I am hoping to enter the very lucrative field of Jewish/Israeli organizations, or possibly the even more lucrative field of full-time writing! While I am aware that neither of those fields pay a whole lot, I'm newly on this whole "enjoy what you do" kick, and hoping that my new life in Israel affords me the ability to truly love what I do! My passions have always been Judaism, Israel, reading and writing (not necessarily in that order) and I hope to make an impact in this country while at the same time utilizing talents that I haven't really been utilizing for the past bunch of years. You would think my passion, strong command of language and sparkling smile would have opened all the doors for me, right? Not so! After revamping my resume (which screamed : SPEECH THERAPIST) and sending it out to various contacts, I am still no closer to impacting Jewish or Israeli society than I was 5 months ago. But I am motivated and confident that it will happen soon (do you know anyone, reader?)
           Another source of stress is converting my license from American to Israeli. Unfortunately, this does not involve learning to honk louder and curse in Hebrew. It is a truly involved process which takes copious amounts of time, energy, and money! I could write a whole blog post on just this topic, but in a nutshell: First you take an eye test (money) where they give you a green paper, which you need to have signed after a doctor's check-up (money). Then you take these papers and your license to the Jerusalem DMV (money) where they hassle you for 3 hours because your NYS license was issued after your aliya and how can this be? Then they reject your valid explanation and make you contact the DMV in Jamaica, Queens in order to sort it all out. Then you need to schedule at least one driving lesson (although the instructor will recommend two- money) and then soon after you will take your test (lots of money) possibly more than once, if the fates are not on your side (even more money!) Then, you can pick up your temporary license (money) before being sent your permanent one (dare I say it...free?) And that is how you convert an American license. And why must you do this now, when you have your whole life in Israel to drive and no access to a car in the foreseeable future? Because the state of Israel gives you a one- year grace period, and after that time you must begin the entire process as an Israeli, with thirty hours of lessons and a written test! No thanks, man!

Step 3 of 45

           My last source of angst in the whole "finding a social circle" issue once I leave ulpan. Much as I like to gripe about this place, there is comfort in knowing that there is always someone downstairs to talk to, always a group to go out with at night, and always a birthday to celebrate. Once we leave the confines of ulpan, we will be scattered to the wind, with many of my favorite people here making the big move to Tel Aviv. I know it's not that far geographically, but logistically, it's a trek. Then there is that dual dilemma of my living alone and also choosing to not live in Katamon. I want to live alone precisely because I like to be with people. Sounds weird? What I mean is, I want to be able to host out- of- town friends, shabbat dinners and small gatherings without worrying about bothering a roommate. I want to be able to be a crash pad for friends and relatives visiting the center of town. Living alone affords me all this, but it also threatens to isolate me. So does living in the center of town. Most young, Orthodox singles in Jerusalem live in the "Katamon" area, which is actually several connected neighborhoods about a twenty minute walk from town. The vast majority of ulpan-ers are choosing to live here, many with other people from ulpan. They are basically transporting a piece of the "ulpan bubble" to their post-ulpan lives. So they will very likely be socializing together and I will very likely need to work harder to maintain connections. This, too, is a stress, even for an uber-social person like myself. 
             So now that I've outlined what I'm stressing about, I actually feel much better. Sometimes it help to talk (type) it out, put it all out there, and tackle it one step at a time. I have an apartment and some stuff with which to fill it. I will find some job at some point I'm sure (maybe Cofix is hiring!) and I will get a license after x number of tries, please G-d. And I already have some great friends, so worse comes to worst, I will just stick with them if I never become the toast of Katamon society. I'll be just fine, don't worry. And while you're at it, tell my mom not to worry either!

To Fear or Not To Fear

             The statistics are clear. It is much more dangerous to live in New York City, my previous home, than Jerusalem, my current (and hopefully forever) home. And yet, I never woke up to news of a massacre in my synagogue, thank G-d, and I never feared standing at a bus stop, and I never gave passersby the side-eye as I walked the streets of Queens. This is my new reality here in Jerusalem. The macro fears of this past summer, the rockets and the sirens, have been replaced by something far more insidious. The mood that surrounds me is much more reminiscent (and I have been loathe to even think it) of Jerusalem in 2001. In those days, I didn't take buses and I didn't shop at the shuk. I didn't visit the mall and I didn't go out in town. And I gave the side-eye to passersby, because you didn't know where, when or what might happen in the Holy City. 

Painted concrete barrier at Jerusalem light rail station

             And I am afraid. My family is calling me, panic in their voices, because the news is biased and the news is scary and the news is sparse and it doesn't come fast enough. And we want to see the pictures but the pictures are terrifying so we don't want to see them. And our friends are worried- our friends in Los Angeles and Detroit, Chicago and New York. Friends from cities with crazy crime rates are asking us to stay safe and be alert. People are questioning if I regret my move here, wondering whether I'll "come back home" to the US where it's safe and warm.
              But I am not afraid. I live in a country with a strong army, willing to lay down their lives for me, sacrificing their own lives for my safety. And even though the situation keeps getting worse I know  that most of the government is tearing out their collective hair, trying to protect us. And it cannot be easy. There are lefties who want to appease our enemies and those on the other side who want it ended by any means necessary, and those from every side who just want it to stop. There is no easy solution, and I do not envy those decision- makers for whom there is no right answer.
             And yet I am afraid. The news doesn't stop. There is always a new terrorist, a new murderer and more information about those who don't deserve our time or our ink. But we are voracious in our desire for news; we have to know where they came from (Israelis, with ID cards and the right to vote and working in our businesses) and what is being done (Heaven forbid they weren't killed on sight and we have to treat them in our hospitals). The only thing we don't have to wonder about is why. It is because we are Jews. It is not because we are Zionists or settlers. It is not because we are policemen or soldiers. It is only because we are Jews and that is enough for them.
             But I am not afraid. I know that this land is the Jewish land, not because the UN recognized us or because we have foreign governments who tell us we can exist. It is not our land as an apology for the Holocaust or because we had nowhere else to go. This land is not Uganda, just a place for Jews to gather in safety. It is our home because it has always been our home. I'm not being hokey when I say that Israel has been home to Jews for thousands of years; I'm speaking about reality. You know what is not our home? Syria is not our home, nor is Libya, Iraq, Iran or Saudi Arabia. Lebanon is not our home, nor is Oman, Liberia, Morocco or Egypt. Afghanistan is not our home, nor is Jordan, Tunisia or Algeria. These are legitimate homes for the world's billion Muslims, but Heaven forbid we Jews be honest about the fact that Israel is our ancestral Homeland and will forever be.
           And still I am afraid. I lived through the second intifada and this summer's war. Moving to Israel is a risk. You risk being away from your loved ones and missing out. You risk not finding a job as good as the one you left. And you also risk being here when our "neighbors" get angry, when our neighbors are incited to kill without pattern or warning. You risk the land you live in being derided in the media, and the brave members of the IDF being demonized. You wonder what risks you should take. Do I really need to go in to town today? Do I really need to visit that friend in that area tomorrow? And even though we are a resilient country, you wonder "Is this all worth the risk?"
          But I am not afraid. I am not afraid because my faith in G-d is strong. And I know that this is not the case for everyone. There are plenty of Israelis who feel differently, who draw strength from other places. But for me, there is a large sense of calm and peace that comes with the belief in a Divine Plan. And does this mean that nothing could ever happen to or around me (G-d forbid)? No, not at all. But there is a strength in knowing that we are not all-knowing and that we are part of a larger reality. This doesn't make the pain hurt any less and it doesn't make the fear disappear, but it does infuse it all with a sense of purpose. And that honestly helps.
          And even so, I am afraid. I want this to end. I want to go back to worrying about finding an apartment and a job. I want to start my search for the perfect sufganiya (donut) and to celebrate Hanukkah as an Israeli for the first time. I want to welcome my family here on their visit and show them all the amazing things I get to experience by living here. I want life, as they say, to go on. And I know it will. This, too, shall pass and all that good stuff, because the Nation of Israel will live on. It's not just a catchy saying, "Am Yisrael Chai." We will survive, we will thrive and we will live here in Israel, because it is our one true home, because it is ours.
           So I am not afraid.